


If They Call You Backstabber, Betrayer, Black Magic, That Traitor [You Made It To The Darkside]

by Vitaldelirium



Category: Lovecraft Country (TV)
Genre: Bout to go wreck myself now, Canon compliant up until 1x9, F/F, This is kind of smut, because I havent watched the finale yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27095368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitaldelirium/pseuds/Vitaldelirium
Summary: In the days leading up to the equinox, Christina is restless...
Relationships: Christina Braithwhite/Ruby Baptiste, Ruby Baptiste/Christina Braithwhite
Comments: 18
Kudos: 137





	If They Call You Backstabber, Betrayer, Black Magic, That Traitor [You Made It To The Darkside]

**Author's Note:**

> Canon compliant up until 1x9. I'm about to go watch the final now so I thought I would write a little something first because I'm kind of fascinated by this pairing. I'm no good at writing smut though so this kind of sucks.  
> Title from "[Darkside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwFGCk6aPsw)" by Oshins Feat. HAEL

In the days leading up to the equinox, Christina is restless. Ruby watches and watches and watches as Christina paces from room to basement, from room to basement, back and forth, back and forth, thick foreign incantation muttered under her breath as fingers usually maddeningly steady suddenly falter against books and glass vials.

It's an energy Ruby hasn't seen in Christina before and it even permeates into William — Christina's generally more confident and charming counterpart suddenly seeming anxious and withdrawn. 

She's Christina now though — has been all day — but she's not quite the Christina Ruby's used to. They're in the basement, Christina working and Ruby watching, eyes drawn to the slight quiver of her fingers. 

Ruby can't help it, probably would never ever say this out loud, but she finds herself kind of fascinated by the change— endeared by it even. 

She shouldn't be. She knows that. She knows damn well that Christina's nerves don't stem from the very high possibility that she is going to murder Ruby's sister's soon-to-be baby daddy soon and that probably makes her and Ruby by extension really fucked up people but Lord, Ruby knows that _hunger_ she sees in Christina's trembling fingers. She knows it because she’s felt that kind of longing herself— heard as her so-called friends and family scoffed behind her back as she filled out yet another Marshall Field's application or tried to book a gig for someone other than the usual drunks at Sammy’s. Ruby knows wanting — knows what it's like to deserve more than the world says she can have. It's a taut, aching sort of restlessness — a never-ending itching that Ruby has felt clawing at her skin long before the unholy transubstantiation Christina has granted her in the form of a potion. 

Right here, right now, watching the heedless flex of usually steadfast fingers as they work, watching the quivering heave of Christina’s chest as she pulls in stunted breaths, Ruby thinks she finally gets it — gets why Christina chose her; gets the potent push-and-pull that feels like it’s always on the verge of combustion between them; gets the lengths Christina will go through for her comeuppance and fuck it, Ruby can’t help but want it for her, can’t help but want it for herself too and with that comes a different sort of wanting —a budding ache that stirs in the pit of her gut and spreads like flames inside her.

She finds herself moving over to the blonde before she can even really think not to, finds her hand settling over Christina’s on her desk, suddenly subduing her restive movement. 

Christina gasps upon contact, for once, distracted enough to be surprised by Ruby’s presence. 

In all fairness, Ruby initiating contact is probably surprising in itself because she doesn't really initiate touch with Christina when she's Christina. It’s not like she hasn’t made peace with the duality that is Christina/William, because she has, probably quicker than she even should have; it’s just that Christina as William is freer, free to be and exhibit the bits of herself that she learned to carefully conceal lest they weaken her standing among her father and company more than her womanhood already had. It’s that sense of freedom William offers that Ruby often submerges herself in, siphons every bit of security and indulgence it has to offer. With Christina as herself, however; honestly, before the last week or so, Ruby mostly found herself infuriated with Christina —more often than not bothered by her flippant attitude and haughty half-truths, the air between them often crackling like the sidewalk in July. 

Facades stripped away, Christina really is the physical embodiment of the softness she manifests as William, her skin softer than the silk sheets she sleeps on as Ruby’s fingers stroke across the tendons that make up her hand. 

“Ruby,” Christina breathes and there’s a curious sort of challenge in the way she husks Ruby’s name as she finds herself backed against her own table, prey instead of predator for once. The effects of the proximity is instant, the unmistakable longing undeniable in the way Christina’s eyes darken, turning all-consuming as she takes her in, head to toe, settling for longer than necessary on her lips before meeting her eyes once again. 

“Do you want me to take the—” she begins to ask but Ruby quells the thought with her lips—has to tip a little on her toes to find the angle, so much different from William usually descending to meet her though she finds it feels kind of exhilarating to reach for once. 

Christina’s lips are sinfully soft too, so much so that the initial brush of their lips hardly even feels like kissing at all, but then Ruby’s hand finds Christina’s jaw, securing the angle and Christina gasps beneath her lips and _fuck_.

The ever-present spark between them ignites. 

Ruby drags her tongue against the inside of Christina’s bottom lip, licks her way into her mouth to finally taste the true source of William’s often honey-coated words and Christina’s mouth _is_ sweet in a way Ruby imagines not too unlike a poison berry. She melts in Ruby’s mouth, whimpering into her, crumbling against her with a sort of vulnerability Ruby has only ever seen when she’s crawling out of William and coming back into herself. 

Overwhelmed, Ruby retreats, finds that she really fucking likes Christina this disheveled —eyes half-lidded and lips wet and parted — and, as if magnetized, dives back in, slipping her tongue right between Christina’s lips like she belongs. 

Christina’s hands find her and Ruby is beginning to realize that the restlessness brought about by Christina’s immense desire perhaps isn’t as new as she thought because Christina touches her like William does or like she does as William; she touches her with a slight tremble in her fingertips similar to the way they were flitting against her flasks and books; she touches her like she wants her so desperately that she can’t control herself; she touches her everywhere, seemingly all at once, the way she glides from her jaw to the nape of her neck, cups her breasts one second and mimics her racing pulse with the thrum of her fingertips against her hip the next as she carelessly rips her belt through its loops to rid her of it.

Ruby is breathless when she retreats again but Christina doesn’t seem to bear the same affliction because no sooner do their mouths part are her lips descending swiftly against Ruby’s jaw, sucking hotly down her neck as her fingers, swifter and more dexterous than William’s, unfasten the buttons on Ruby’s shirt. 

She slips the shirt from Ruby’s shoulders, lets it fall to the floor and resumes her pursuit of bared skin with her lips, nipping and sucking until she reaches a thick bra strap and tugs with her teeth, unclasping quickly so it can join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Christina’s nails are short and wellkept but sharper than William’s and Ruby kind of enjoys the sharp scratch of them as they graze along her spine.

She's dizzy with want — doesn’t even realize she’s clenching Christina’s dress in her fist until the metal of the zipper presses into her palm and she finds herself tugging at it, tearing it down before she can even process it, and when Christina finally withdraws from touching her, it’s only for a moment, and only to hastily rip off her own dress before she’s on her again.

How they end up on the floor is a mystery to Ruby — Christina could have magic-ed them there for all she knows — but she doesn’t really mind, not when staying upright was such a task anyway and definitely not when Christina works her skirt and underwear off too, taking a moment to hungrily devour her nudity with her eyes before settling against her.

It’s different than when she’s William, the weight of Christina against Ruby — she feels so light and delicate, but in Ruby’s quest to touch as much as she can, her fingertips bump against a mark she knows mean the contrary and she digs her fingernails into soft skin to test it and invulnerable or not, Christina feels it, chokes around a moan as she nips across Ruby’s collarbone. 

If there is any proof that William is indeed Christina, it’s probably how well she already knows Ruby’s body. She kisses open-mouthed and hot against her chest, working down until she can slip a nipple between her lips, grazing with her teeth until Ruby moans, overcome, her head tipping back against the hard floor. Christina knows exactly how to touch, exactly what she likes, but she’s finding new things to like too, like the tickle of long hair against her skin or the way she can wrap her fingers in it and tug, making Christina hiss and bite harder. 

Ruby is dripping, aching with how much she wants, but she doesn’t ask, doesn’t beg — she doesn’t with William, she certainly won’t with Christina; instead, she ruts her hips, finds the solid weight of Christina’s thigh between her legs provokes a flickering spark of pleasure that makes her throb harder. 

Ruby could chase that pleasure to climax, she’s that tightly wound, but, of course, Christina doesn’t let her, instead withdrawing until she’s straddling one of Ruby’s thighs. It's then that Ruby realizes that Christina is still in her underwear and bra, but even through the woven lace, Ruby can feel the heat of her, sticky warmth dragging against her thigh; it’s intoxicating. 

“Fuck, Christina,” she groans, not realizing how wrecked she feels until she hears just how wrecked she sounds, her own pulse thrumming in her ears, mixing with Christina’s soft, gasping breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, fingers searching, tugging, grasping. 

Her exclamation seems to set off something because Christina’s eyes glaze over, overcome, and her fingers, graceful yet strong, find Ruby’s heat, catching slowly against her slowly. 

_It was her name_ , the catalyst, Ruby realizes staggeringly before Christina presses with her fingers, renders her too dazed to process anything more than _yes_ and _oh God_. The pressure of Christina’s fingers against her feels like magic in itself, makes Ruby feel like she’s cracking beneath the weight of something, like she’s coming out of her own skin. She wants it— wants so badly to just be reborn, to just metamorphose into the person Christina sees — the person she could be without the world shoving her into her place at every corner. 

“More,” she finds herself gasping, noticing belatedly the way Christina is rutting against her thigh, breathing hot puffs of breath against her lips as she leans over her, carefully cataloging her ascension. 

“More,” she demands, fingernails pressing into Christina’s hip, flexing her thigh as Christina bucks desperately. 

Christina slips two fingers into her, curls them just right and Ruby bursts right then, trembling around Christina’s fingers as she feels like she’s being floated away to another dimension, Christina’s body crumpling against hers as she reaches her own climax the sole thing keeping her tethered to this universe. 

_Fuck_ , she thinks, throbbing around delicate fingers, Christina quivering against her or her quivering against Christina —who knows anymore—; for all her ambition and her longing and want, Ruby would kind of be satisfied living right here in this moment forever. 

Still, the equinox is approaching and she knows one way or another, it will change everything. If Christina gets the blood and the book, Leti will hate her for her part in it — won’t forgive her for finally _taking_ for once even though she’s forgiven Leti over and over and over again for taking and taking and taking. She deserves it, she thinks, to finally get to be the selfish one, to finally get to want and take for herself. Why the hell not? Tic's family had that damn book of magic for years and what good did they do with it? What did they have to show for it except death and ashes? It wouldn't be like that with Christina; she's too ambitious, too cunning; Ruby doesn't know what's in store for them if she does get her way, only that she's safe from whatever reckoning Christina will bestow upon the world.

If Christina doesn't get the blood and the book, if she doesn't get her immortality, Ruby isn't sure where they'll go from there either — doesn't know where she and Leti will stand afterwards.

It's honestly too much to think about so Ruby's content in just not thinking, instead revels in the heaviness in her limbs and the woman sprawled atop her, _calm_.

The end. 


End file.
